The Departed
by LadyBritish
Summary: Monica-Ruth Dawson swings and dances, she has the time of her life at Jazzin' Blues - but when she's faced with reality she has to accept that her father is gone. What's more concerning to her is the fact that her worst enemy Josephine uncovers a startling revelation...one that could change their lives forever. (No Mary-Sues/Slash).


_Disclaimer: unless my birth certificate is incorrect, I do not own the Titanic movie or any of it's franchises etc. _

_A/N: I know you've probably read this plot time and time again, but I plan to give it my own spin and remove a few clichés. _

…..

**Chapter 1 – Rules and Blues **

Monica stood a little farther away, away from the tunes and the blues of her beloved jazz club – her refuge of solace and hope.

With gritted teeth her frozen fingers fumbled her simple clutch, she searched for a while until her hand grasped a coin for the late night bus. It was about ten and her mother's bar would be still rather full of the usual customers coming in for a drink or the occasional ciggie.

A bus purred straight past her and streaked her red dress with flecks of mud and water, not very complimentary in her opinion. With a low groan Monica shuffled with high hopes that she could perhaps skip her shift for tonight, and just listen to her jazz records and make her own jewellery to pass the time in her handkerchief-sized bedroom.

With a low growl of discontent and an aggressive lilt to her usually bubbly façade, she opened the door to 'Monica's Friday Night Bites' and entered the brimming, lively pub with a simply jaded mood.

"Darling, if you can take over my shift in a few then I can go to my night classes, it's the least I could do to get us some more money. Besides, how was your evening?" her mother Rose asked in a rather flustered manner, her gaze scanned with delight at her content customers and returned to her daughter.

_Awful. _

"Marvellous, I had a jolly well time dancing. I met a lot of people," Monica replied with a forced smile _– 'the same bunch, to be honest'. _

"Well I'm just glad that you had a good time, you're lucky that your shift is short – it's about three hours and the place closes at twelve," Rose chimed in, she pinned back some flyaway red hair, so similar to Monica's own bright frizz.

She glanced from her mother, shrugged her shoulders and reluctantly took a tray from her mother's hand, a sign to say that she was taking charge now – there was no turning back at that precise moment.

"I'll let you change and I shall pop out in a minute or so, you can handle yourself. You're a very independent woman dear, just like your father was…," she trailed with large, entranced eyes and had huddled off to grab her coat and left the pub before Monica could say a word.

Her mother always referenced similarities between Monica and her father, but she wondered. Did her mother really know her, at all? She relied so much on the love and attentions of others it became a sort of drug to her – she hated being alone, where darkness and self-conscious beliefs could all but consume her.

She looked down on her rather revealing dress and with a flush scurried to the upstairs room, her own to call home. Littered with clothes, her own home made accessories and the additional posters of jazz musicians and ladies from her magazines, it was a display of her love for youth and music, the energizing mood and the freedom of the times she lived in.

She had never known him so she could never really feel a satisfactory adjustment to him, she just had to accept the fact that her father was gone for good and if he could return, he would have years ago.

Monica threw on the custom uniform – an unflattering brown dress with the pub's name printed in even duller, black italics onto the pristine aprons the girls had to tie while they served men mostly. Females would often come and go, but they drank in the seclusions of the teen clubs and pubs readily prepared for their own enjoyment and recreation, they couldn't tamper their own reputations with the adults. It just wasn't heard of – with the things young girls did these days. The things _Monica_ herself often did these days.

With a disheartened huff she started serving the old hags and men with reluctance, did the same drill she watched her mother do countless times without fail and still managed some rather stupid disasters.

Monica cringed when she served a shady man in a corner smoking a pipe, she had spilt some beer that she was serving on his lovely trousers and he fired a string of curse words in her direction. Picking up the remains of the beverage she lowered down, but a warm hand grasped her shoulder.

"Don't worry ma'm, my friend here's just a little on the negative side and took the opportunity to take out his anger on you. Taking it personally would be a mistake," his companion snorted and turned around to get a better look at his friend's new victim.

"I didn't in the first place," Monica scoffed in retort and kneeled down on the wooden floorboards, she had a cloth in one hand and had begun scrubbing the spilt alcohol with a bitter grudge against the man with a short fuse and poor attitude.

"Never mind, the name's Jack. And if you're looking for a more entertaining job, you could come by the art studio any day," he added and extended a hand with an amount of genuine confidence that she envied.

"Name's Monica, besides I can't draw to save my life," she replied and Jack's eyes widened with a hint of surprise, he had obviously jumped to conclusions.

"Ah, madam, with no amount of disrespect to your bar…I-" the poor man was a mess and had turned beetroot red with embarrassment.

"Ha! My mom owns the place so you're lucky, you'd be screwed if you ever insulted her. Name's Monica, a pleasure to meet you indeed tis' true," she threw her head back and laughed when Jack sighed with relief.

"Dawson, these drinks aren't gunna serve themselves ya' little rascal!" the head chef Martha called in a shrill caw. She was an old, impatient woman who any sane person should avoid crossing at all costs.

"Duty calls," mumbled Monica and she collected the remains of her previous mishap, putting them in a nearby waste dispenser.

"A pleasure to meet you too Rose," Jack answered mildly, his friend quirked a brow and he realized what he had just said, with an awkward wave his gaze never left the retreating girl.

"Oh man, you're so screwed up." His friend snorted into his freshly served drink with a grimace, he chuckled at his conflicting friend who had grudgingly mumbled under his breath and sat in a defeated slouch into the chair he sat himself upon.

"I know," Jack grunted in reply.

…

_A/N: was it good, was it terrible? I'd love to hear your opinion in the review section of the story. _


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